


the burden of choices

by dasakuryo



Series: heart of winter fires [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Cassian Andor-centric, Gen, Headcanon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasakuryo/pseuds/dasakuryo
Summary: It's the first time Cassian Andor disobeys orders, and he must deal with the consequences of that decision.





	the burden of choices

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for thefulcrumcaptain Fulcrum Friday's prompt #2 first time on tumblr. Hope you enjoy :)

He swallowed, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. His heart was thumping loudly in his ears, droning out the scarce noise around him. He squared his shoulders, and straightened his back so much the tips of his shoulder blades might as well be touching. He jutted out his chin and fixed his gaze on Lieutenant Draven.

The man was resting his chin on his balled hand, the light from the data-pad he was reading through casted shadows on his face, accentuating the pensiveness hard lines and curves. He hadn't said anything for minutes now; the only thing Cassian knew was that his frown deepened as he studied the report—

The report on his last mission. The one in which Cassian wilfully, and in full understanding of what he was doing, _disobeyed_ direct orders. The one mission in which he had thrown the chain of command through the window and hadn't even commed a superior for instructions on how to proceed. The one mission in which he had acted on an impulse, on a hunch—

His throat bobbed, he tried swallowing his own nervousness.

He'd been lucky he hadn't compromised the whole operation. He'd been lucky he hadn't got his partner killed. He'd been lucky they could both tell the story and the Empire did not have the slightest idea that two rebels had infiltrated a military base, getting hold of reports on military strategies, on weak points of a wide variety of starships. The Empire had no idea the Rebellion was now in possession of military plans and information on new military targets. The Rebellion would now be able to send aid and troops to these planets. The people would be able to stand a chance, they wouldn't be crushed under the heavy boots of troopers, and hope would not fade into darkness when Empire ships started to swarm their skies.

And yet, Cassian had _still_ disobeyed. He had put the whole operation in jeopardy, had even bargained with the life of its own partner, because something deep within him had stirred. Because he felt something was _off_ when the admiral sauntered across the hangar. So he had disobeyed direct orders of staying in the shuttle, waiting for his partner to return with the data, slid on an imperial cadet uniform and entered the facility. Had his partner returned to the shuttle… if Cassian had not found him—

He could might as well be staring at the darkness, the black cloth sticking to his nostrils, and his body weak, battered and wounded from the violent hand of the Empire, to worm out from his throat every little bit of information he had, he knew, about the rebel terrorists.

There was a clank. Draven, steepling his fingers, tapped his lips once, twice before clearing his throat.

"Andor, you disobeyed direct orders to act on an assumption," his gaze was soul piercing, but Cassian didn't lower his eyes, "you claim you suspected the Admiral you saw on the hangar of the cruiser was of high profile."

He clasped his hands behind his back.

"Yes, sir," there was no use denying it, after all.

The Captain's eyebrows arched, but other than that his expression remained utterly blank and indecipherable.

"You claim you suspected this Admiral was going to have a meeting with the General in charge of the blockade," he made a pause, but Cassian wouldn't have dared to utter a sound, Draven wasn't actually giving him a chance to speak with that momentary silence, "so you followed him. _Discreetly_. Then confirmed your suspicions."

Cassian gave a sharp nod.

"You managed to track down your partner inside the imperial facility you were roaming about, while maintaining radio silence and told him, and I am quoting Mihalis Qua here, 'we need to know what they're discussing'."

"Yes, sir."

"Mihalis Qua You managed to enter the General's private office and retrieve the HoloCube with the entire meeting recording, then infiltrated the archives and retrieved all the information regarding all the targets mentioned. All thanks to a diversion that you created to keep troopers and officials busy. Mind you telling which kind of diversion it was?"

"I re-programmed a few security droids in storage to attack," he fought down the urge to clear his throat, "to attack the Stormtroopers stationed in the hallways and the war room."

"Which was the original aim of this mission?" Draven asked, his tone levelled, composed, devoid of any emotion rippling through it.

He rolled his shoulders, pressed his tongue on the roof of his mouth before letting out, in the most collected and calm voice he could muster with the nerves itching on his palms, "get intell about the current operations in the Arkanis sector, sir."

"Which was the result?"

"We successfully retrieved that intell," he licked his lips and laced his voice away from the hoarseness that threatened to overtake it, "as well as information about upcoming military targets in other sectors, potential flaws and verified weaknesses in starships and cruisers, sir."

"So, would you say the mission was successful?"

It was a trap laid out for him to fall right into its deepest pit. Because his disobedience could have cost not only his partner's life and his, it could have also put countless more lives in danger. It could have put the rebellion at risk of being discovered and hammered down.

He could have cut short the efforts of years upon years to bring down the Empire.

It'd been _risky._ He'd been _lucky_. Asking whether this was a test was out of the question, it was, it was evident in the inscrutable, calculating gaze of Draven, in the intent look watchful of his every move —studying him in silence, assessing him without asking, reading him still whether or not he wanted to disclose anything.

Like a spy.

"We did get hold of the information the Alliance was in need of to safeguard our efforts," he chose his voice carefully, maintained his tone detached, impassive, untinged of any drop of pride that may project his voice or turn it softer, slower, "we did get hold of information that will be useful to the Alliance, information that will keep people safe," he sucked in a breath, and his fingers curled to his palms, the moment of hesitation safely away from Draven's gaze, "but my actions were reckless."

An almost imperceptible crease trudged its way into Draven's forehead.

"How so?"

"Had I been discovered— hadn't I managed to find my Mihalis Qua—" he trailed off, suddenly too aware of the intensity of Draven's gaze, more appraising than before, "the rebellion could have been at risk of being discovered. Not only could I have been captured and tortured for information, but the Empire would have known that rebels are effectively infiltrating their facilities under their noses—" he squared his shoulders again, his boot slid an barely inch backwards on the floor, "they would have reinforced controls, intelligence agents working for the Alliance could have had their covers exposed."

Draven arched an eyebrow.

Cassian managed to keep himself from swallowing.

"They could have also been tortured to get information, independent rebel cells still in the shadows collaborating with the Alliance would have been discovered as well," he took a deep breath, the weight of all the potential consequences stooped his shoulders forward, not much, but enough for his jacket to whisper a rustle only he heard. "All assets of any kind the Rebellion has managed to seize and acquire throughout time in Arkanis were at risk of being lost."

Draven remained silent, but his eyes were piercing enough.

"All because I chose to go against orders," he declared, voice firm, hard and stoic, "it'd have been my fault."

Draven got up, clasped his hands behind his back and sauntered closer.

"You understand now, Andor," he said, looking directly into his eyes, "why there's a chain of command, why there are orders that must be _followed_ —"

Cassian gave a sharp nod. The Rebellion was different from the Festian Resistance. He _knew_ it.

"The orders are there as safeguards, for the mission, anyone involved in it, the people and, ultimately," his voice took on a harsher, severe tone when the way it slid out of his mouth, "to protect the Rebellion. We are the bastion to restore freedom; we are the bastion of protection to those who suffer under the yoke of the Empire."

"Yes, sir."

"We do not fight for ourselves, but for the galaxy. To restore what was snatched, to put an end to this _tyranny_ of terror," Draven made a point of stressing the word, and Cassian's throat clogged with shame, under the weight of what could have happened, and the lives he'd risked. "I appreciate a soldier with instincts and wit, but unless it's _strictly necessary_ , do not deviate from the plan nor any mission directives in the future when you cannot verify how to proceed with any superior," the whole statement felt like a punch. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Draven pivoted on his heels and turned, covered the meagre meters separating him from the control board. His back was hunched forward. Cassian couldn't bring himself to move, his feet nailed on the duracrete. He twiddled his fingers and took a deep breath; the grip on his throat was yet to slacken.

"Sir," his tone raised at the end, careful, interrogative, "how—how do I know if it's strictly necessary to—" Draven turned, expression vacant and unreadable as always, "to disobey orders?"

"By weighing priorities, by learning to read situations, people, by learning which risks are worth taking," a pause, "by learning to see the bigger picture. By learning how to connect signs and clues to get that picture. By learning that by making those connections you can unravel what others wish to keep in the dark," he made another pause, and nearly shrugged when he added, "essentially, through _experience_."

Cassian ducked his head. He found it odd that Draven hadn't given any information about his next assignment, or whichever training detail he was to focus on. Unless the ones he'd been given prior his last mission hadn't suffered any changes. He was about to turn on his spot to leave, when in came Draven's voice again—

"You're to report to the general, Andor."

So there would be indeed repercussions to his actions, aside from the stern, harsh reminder and him recognizing how and why his actions had been at fault. He didn't let Draven know he'd heard him, his superior didn't demand any acknowledgement either.

* * *

 

The nerves were now tightening not only his throat, but his stomach had been reduced to a tight knot. His heart was beating in his ears by the time he stepped inside the war room. Mon Mothma darts her gaze from the HoloCube she's watching to his fidegty self, standing barely a few steps from the door.

"Andor," even though the light was dim, he believed he'd seen the shadow of a smile curling her lips as he approached, "the general was expecting you, your last mission has made quite an impact."

Under other circumstances, he might had felt a smile tugging at his lips that his rectitude and modesty would have suppressed before it showed, but he could feel anything else but a sudden and inexplicable rush of dread. What if they were planning on suspending him temporarily? What if they wanted to assign them to an entire division entirely? He'd been training and working for years, they couldn't just—He wanted to protest, make a case for himself… they couldn't just—

The shuffle of footsteps droned out the voice of his increasingly alarming thoughts. When the general stepped into the light, Cassian suddenly understood the voices flooded with reverence when people spoke about her. There was something hypnotic, _mighty_ , powerful yet magnanimous about her.

"Cassian," he tried not to choke with his own breathing, overwhelmed at the fact she—the _General_ — had called him by his name, "seems the rebellion has got their hands on a promising recruit."

His breath clogged in his throat, and he merely managed to let out a rather mumbled, "I am sorry—I don't know why—"

"Captain Draven raised his concerns, of course," she merely said, her long lekku brushing and gliding on her shoulders and chest when she tilted her head appreciatively, "but I believe you've showed your talents, and a cunning mind. I believe," she said, and when she took another step forward her montral swept through the holo, making the image quiver, "you do have what it takes. The rest… it's merely a matter of acquiring _experience_."

Why was she echoing Draven? Wasn't he going to get punished for his disobedience? Which was then the whole point of this meeting, of having summoned him after everything that had gone down?

Cassian didn't know what to make of the togruta's smile.

"Congratulations, agent Fulcrum."

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I knew that Cassian was a Fulcrum agent, I thought about him meeting Ahsoka Tano at some point. Cassian knowing and working with Ahsoka is probably one of the things I want to happen in canon _so badly_. I also couldn't stop thinking about how conflicted Cassian was about disobeying orders in the first place, and I figured that aside from following protocol and hierarchy, there have to be other reasons underlying that turmoil (his 'I had orders, orders that I _disobeyed_ ', the utter rawness of the way he seems to growl those words kept ringing in my head) aside from him being reluctant to shoot Galen.  
> Hope you've enjoyed this story. Thank you so much for reading, feedback is always appreciated! :)


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